Aminah and Abdur-Rahman completed their written marriage contract during the last week of October so they would already be married while their parents planned the formal ceremony, which was scheduled for the first week in February after Eid al-Fitr. Once again, Sarah found herself planning a wedding. But this time it would be the ceremony and the walimah. Ismael volunteered to help, and did, and that kept them busy, their planning interrupted only by the approach of Ramadan.
The Muslims began their fasting on Tuesday, December 30th in 1997, and the following Friday Sarah hosted in her home the only iftaar she would plan or attend for the entire month of fasting. It was a deviation from her normal routine of planning and attending dinners, but she wanted this blessed month to herself. If it hadn’t been for her desire for Allah’s forgiveness, she would have hosted no dinner at all. She would have spent the entire month in seclusion, emerging from her home only to attend the night prayers in the masjid. But her compromise was hosting the dinner on the first day possible, thereby leaving her to herself and her Lord for the rest of the month.
The first guest arrived at five o’clock, and because Sarah was still in the kitchen, Aminah answered the door and directed the men to the living room and the women to the family room downstairs. Sarah was able to wave and greet the sisters as they passed through the kitchen. By the time the women broke their fasts and prayed and the men returned from the masjid to eat, everyone had arrived. Tamika, Faith, Alika, Maryam, Khadijah (and her two-month old daughter), and Nusaybah, who arrived with her daughter and co-wife, neither of whom Sarah had ever met. Zahra had called to say her family couldn’t make it, but on their way to their iftaar, they dropped off some food, for which Sarah was grateful.
After everyone had gotten their plates and settled in the family room, Nusaybah began the short talk that Sarah had asked her to give as a reminder to the sisters during this month. Nusaybah started by reciting the verse Allah had revealed concerning the month.
The month of Ramadan in which the Qur’an was revealed,
A guidance for mankind and clear proofs of guidance
and criterion (between right and wrong).
So whoever sights (the new moon) of the month, let him fast.
And whoever is ill or on a journey,
then an equal number of days (to be made up).
Allah intends for you ease and does not intend for you hardship
And wants for you to complete the period and glorify Allah
For that which He has guided you
And perhaps you will be grateful
And when My servants ask you concerning Me,
indeed I am near. I respond to the invocation of
the supplicant when he calls upon Me.
So let them respond to Me and believe in Me
That they be rightly guided.
Nusaybah translated the meaning of the Arabic then said, “Today, I want to focus briefly on three points, Allah’s guidance, showing gratefulness to Him, and seeking His mercy and forgiveness through sincere repentance and constant supplication.”
Nusaybah explained the definition of Allah’s guidance and the magnificent blessing it was to be guided upon the truth. She recited verses and relayed stories of guidance and misguidance. Already the room was silent and eyes were filled with tears as each realized the magnitude of the gift that had been bestowed upon her when she said, “Laa ilaaha ill Allaah.”
Nusaybah talked about the significance of the testimony of faith beginning with a negation followed by an affirmation. “This means being pure, ridding ourselves of all opinions, baggage, and foreign beliefs when we stand before our Lord to bear witness that we will give our hearts and lives to Him. Only after we purify ourselves of everything within us, even what we count as harmless or good, do we affirm that nothing has the right to be worshipped but Allah alone.”
She explained, “Had we begun with the affirmation of His right to be worshipped then negated whatever opposed it, it would be akin to pouring milk into a glass that held an impurity, then before drinking, we seek to purify the milk.” She paused. “It will never be pure, and you would never drink it.”
She looked at each of the sisters, a gentle yet firm determination in her eyes as she scanned those before her. “You are guided, each of you. This in itself is a tremendous blessing that our human minds can only begin to comprehend. The difference between lightness and darkness. The difference between sight and blindness. The difference between hearing and deafness.” She added, “The difference between life and death. Life and death.”
A soft yet powerful recitation escaped her lips at that moment.
“In this verse, Allah, subhaanahu wa ta’alaa, describes the Qur’an as a rooh. Now, we know the rooh is the spirit that Al-Khaaliq placed in our father Adam that transformed a lifeless creation made from earth, to a walking, thinking human being and prophet. In other words, the rooh is the human soul. When it is removed, we die.”
Sarah creased her forehead, reflecting on Nusaybah’s words.
“Likewise, the Qur’an is our rooh, our soul. Without it in our hearts, in our lives, we die. Even as our hearts beat and blood runs through our veins.”
She went on, “This rooh is our guidance, our light, our path through and out of the darkness that still lurks in our hearts, and in our souls. In our lives.”
She paused, letting these words sink in. “Look around you, at anyone who has not been guided and you will see their death, even as they live. Their thinking testifies to it. Their desires testify to it. Their very tongues testify to it as they speak.” She paused, her own eyes filling now. “Yet, are we grateful? Are we grateful for this rooh?”
She drew in a deep breath, blinking as her eyes glistened. “Or do we count our guidance, our gift of life, as a favor for which Ar-Rahmaan should be grateful? Or perhaps we live secure that we will never die. Perhaps we imagine that we will never have the rooh of Qur’an taken from us.”
Sarah saw Khadijah’s tears spill from her eyes and the sister hung her head as her baby lay face down on her lap . Alika’s eyes welled behind her lids, but she continued to look at Nusaybah, a look of intent interest, of eemaan. The other sisters were looking toward their laps, their minds in distant reflection.
“No, our tongues would never say these things. But our actions bear witness.” She recited from the Qur’anic chapter Al-‘Aadiyaat.
Indeed mankind is, to his Lord, ungrateful.
And indeed he is, to that, a witness.
And indeed he is, in love of wealth, intense
But does he not know that when the contents
of the graves are scattered
And that within the breasts is made known
Indeed, that Day, their Lord is fully acquainted with them
“I want you to look in your hands, at the glass of milk you are holding, and think back to when you first recited the words testifying that nothing has the right to be worshipped except your Creator. Or think back to when you first began to understand the significance of these words. Who were you?” She paused, letting the question hang in the air. “What opinions did you have then that you no longer have? What baggage of sin, of the world did Allah take from your hands, from your hearts, when you recited those words?”
A tear slipped down her cheek and she wiped it away, squinting her eyes slightly, seeming to reflect on her own life. “And what, after you became comfortable in the gift of guidance, did you turn back for, to put back into your life? What impurities did you seek? What opinions did you reinstate? What sin did you weigh yourself down with? What of the world did you want that the Hereafter didn’t offer, or reward?”
She drew in a deep breath, exhaled, then shook her head, tears welling in her eyes again. “We are all guilty. Each one of us. And surely, Allah knows us better than we know ourselves. So look within. And begin to numerate for yourself the impurities you wish to remove from your heart, your souls. Your lives.”
She went on, “The days of Ramadan are upon us, already passing us by. This is the month in which Allah closes the gates of Hell Fire, opens the gates of Paradise. The month of mercy. The month of forgiveness. Your month. Your gift from Allah. This is not a month of socializing, of eating. This is a month of worship. This is the month in which there is Layla-tul-Qadr. The Night of Power, The Night of Decree. Do not hesitate to spend every day of the month in asking Allah’s forgiveness, mercy, and salvation from the Hell Fire. Do not hesitate to seek out Layla-tul-Qadr in the last ten nights, a night which is better than a thousand months.”
She added, “Increase your kindness in this month. Increase your prayers. Increase your du’aa.” She paused. “Increase your eemaan.” She took a breath, looking out at the moistened cheeks of the sisters. “Do not let your eyes become dry. This is the sign of a hard heart.
“Every night Allah saves people from the Hell Fire. Be one of them. And remember, we are taught, that everyone, every person, every slave will be forgiven during this month,” she said. “Except those who do not want to be forgiven.” She paused. “And those who do not want to be forgiven are those who do not ask.”
Ismael lingered in front of the mailbox at the end of his yard after Sulayman had shown the brothers back inside after returning from Maghrib. Ismael’s hand rested on the open metal box, and his gaze was on the car parked three feet away. His mind was far from the waiting envelopes and store catalogues bunched inside the small space. The car was facing him, its windshield reflecting the glow of the streetlights, and a distorted, dark reflection of himself.
How appropriate, he thought, his heart heavy, body weak. How appropriate was his image in the glass that she looked out whenever she sat behind the wheel and gauged the path before her. If she were there now, seeing him, would she see what he saw? Or would she see what he was trying to convince himself had never taken root in his heart?
He didn’t know it felt like this. The incompleteness. He didn’t know it would hurt. He had convinced himself that she could go. Perhaps it would make Sarah stay. His desperation precluded logic, sense. He knew when she told him her decision. He knew then that he didn’t want her to leave. But a part of him had given up already, holding onto Alika only because Sarah had said he would trample yet another heart.
Alika had read in his words what he couldn’t say with his voice. “I’m not going to leave you, Alika,” he had said. “I didn’t do things right, but I can’t right them by doing more wrong.” Even he had heard the footnote, the meaning beneath the words. I can’t right the wrong, but you can. I can’t leave, but you can. If you do, it won’t be wrong.
Gazing at her car, he wished he could take it back. Take back the desperation, the hidden plea. And replace it with faith. With determination. With truth.
What would it have taken to say what he really felt? I’m not going to leave you, Alika. Because I don’t know how to let you go. You are a part of me, and I don’t know how to give up part of myself.
Regret. It was painful. Tumultuous. Unrelenting. He would have to learn to live with that.
If he only knew how.
As Alika listened to Nusaybah speak, she realized she had made the right decision to come. She needed to hear the reminder, the reminder that there was more to this life than her heart. Even if it could never be mended completely. She had her soul. She had the Hereafter. She had her faith.
She had Islam.
Guidance was a tremendous bestowal. She would not take it for granted. If she gained nothing from meeting Ismael except this, it was more than a life with him could bring. She would use this month for herself, to turn to Allah and ask for His guidance, His strength. She would not walk this path alone. She carried a fractured heart and soul reborn. Not perfect. But she would survive. With the rooh of Qur’an, she would endure the pain. She would triumph over it, give it no energy, no time. No place.
But it was not hers to remove. She had not placed it there. Her heart itself belonged to her Creator. He had decreed that Ismael Ali come into her life. And that he would leave it. Even if by her own hands.
He wanted to go. She saw it in Ismael’s eyes the moment he stood at her door for the first time. That she didn’t want him to go made everything feel imbalanced, unfair. Even as she felt he were a part of her, and she a part of him.
Her father. Oh, how she respected him, admired him now. She would keep her promise to her mother. She would never judge him. Blame him—for being a man. She had no idea how to blame him, or why she had judged him in the first place. If only Ismael had been more like her father… Or perhaps Ismael did not feel like she, did not need her as she needed him, and maybe he was unwilling to build a life with her—if it meant hurting what he already had.
“Right now, Sarah can remove fifty bricks…and still have a castle. But what about you, Alika? You don’t even have a foundation.”
The words pierced her heart right then, a fire of regret, of jealousy burning within. Why couldn’t she have a foundation, or even more? Wasn’t it possible that fifty bricks could be laid by a mere smile, a laugh? She held more than a foundation of bricks in her heart for Ismael. Why wasn’t it the same for him? Was this the bitterness she would have to somehow concoct into a sweet drink? If women had done it for centuries, where was her share? Where was she to find the strength, the wisdom? Or was there something else she could say, could do?
Ismael.
She sat in his house right then. How strange it was to sit in his home. A guest of his wife. His family. She didn’t want to like Sarah, didn’t want to see the kindness, the strength. The healing, the pain. It would be easier to cast her as the culprit, think her unkind and weak. But Alika knew better. And she would not lie to herself. She had enough baggage to ask Allah to remove—from her hands, her heart. She didn’t need more.
If only there were someway to know how to calm a wailing heart.
Abdur-Rahman stood with his car door ajar as he caught sight of Aminah walking with her parents back to their car after praying the night prayer. He wanted to run after her, ask her to wait up for him. But he had no idea what he would say if she did. They talked only once on the phone, and Aminah had relaxed somewhat although the awkwardness of the situation made her shy. His shyness did not help as he kept repeating himself and stuttering, even as he knew it was his wife on the other end of the phone. His wife.
He watched as she stopped next to the car, her head visible over its roof, and her face glowing under the lamppost. She lifted her head to gaze into the night, and her expression changed from deep thought to surprise, then a hesitant smile of recognition. It took him a moment to realize they were looking at each other. When he did, his heartbeat quickened, and he held her gaze, unable to believe she was his wife. She looked so beautiful, so innocent, so pure. She cast her eyes down, unable to look at him any longer. Her mother was looking at him now, and Sarah said something to her daughter before she opened her door. Ismael turned as he opened his, and he waved to his son-in-law, and Abdur-Rahman waved in return. When Ismael continued to wave, Abdur-Rahman realized his father-in-law was not waving to greet him but to gesture for him to come. Nervous and unable to keep from smiling, Abdur-Rahman closed his car door, and pushed his hands into his pockets, where he jingled his keys, noise to distract him from the pounding in his chest.
“As-salaamu’alaikum!” Ismael pulled him in a firm embrace, commenced by a slap on the back.
“Wa’alaiku-mus-salaam.” Abdur-Rahman couldn’t look up, afraid his eyes would wander and look into Aminah’s instead of her father’s.
“Sarah was just saying you might want to take Aminah home.”
Abdur-Rahman’s eyes widened as he met Ismael’s gaze. “Take her home?” An awkward smile formed on one side of his mouth. “Drive her?”
Ismael laughed. “You can walk if you like. But it’s quite a distance.”
Abdur-Rahman nodded, averting his gaze again as he chuckled in embarrassment. He grasped the keys in his pocket, not knowing what else to do.
“If you don’t want to…”
“No, sir it’s not that. I just…”
“Aminah?” It was Sarah’s voice. “Do you mind going home with your husband?”
Abdur-Rahman lifted his head to see Aminah grinning shyly at him, and she shook her head. Abdur-Rahman’s heart sank, and his cheeks grew warm. “I don’t mind,” she said.
His forehead creased, and he looked up as Aminah’s mother nodded to her. He realized then that Aminah was shaking her head to say she didn’t mind, not to refuse the ride.
“Drive safely,” Ismael said with a wink. A second later, he and his wife were in the car, the shutting of their doors the announcement of Abdur-Rahman and Aminah’s presence, alone.
For a moment, they gazed at each other then cast their eyes down then looked up shyly. Aminah giggled from discomfort, and Abdur-Rahman grinned, unable to keep from staring at her. If he could hold this moment, he would. But right then, he wanted only to hold her hand. He was thinking of a way to when he heard Ismael’s voice.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Aminah’s father said through the crack of the automatic window he had let down. “But my wife and I were wondering if you and Aminah didn’t mind staring at each other away from the car. We don’t have much space to pull out.”
Abdur-Rahman laughed in embarrassment, and Aminah immediately rounded the car, laughing herself. “Sorry about that,” he said.
“No problem,” Ismael said grinning.
When Abdur-Rahman and Aminah started toward his car, he heard Aminah’s parents drive away, the sudden knowledge that they were alone for the first time making him jingle his keys, his hands still in his pockets. The parking lot was crowding as people filed to their cars, and Aminah moved closer to him to make way for others to pass. The cloth covering her arm brushed his, and he felt his palms sweat. He played with the keys in his pocket until he was forced to withdraw them as they approached his car.
“You know the way?” Aminah held a hesitant smile on her face, but she didn’t look him in the eye. It was her attempt at breaking the awkward silence, and he was grateful.
He looked up and smiled back. “If I don’t,” he said, surprising himself that he hadn’t lost his voice, “I’m sure you’ll show me.”
She nodded as he unlocked the car from the passenger side and opened the door for her. After she was inside, he closed the door and walked over to his side, feeling himself relax slightly as he climbed in and closed the door.
Their solitude made them nervous, and Aminah looked out her window as he started the car. His gaze fell on her profile then on her hands that lay folded politely on her lap. She’s so beautiful, he thought. My wife. Inside he smiled as he pulled away, wishing he wasn’t too shy to hold her hand, even if for only a moment.
The drive was silent, but Abdur-Rahman was relaxed in the quiet, knowing that there was no need to talk. He wished Freddie and Freda were there to seal the moment. But he hadn’t brought them tonight. He didn’t think it was a good idea to have birds in the masjid for Taraweeh though he imagined they would enjoy the sound of their Creator’s Words being recited for so long.
At Aminah’s house, Abdur-Rahman pulled to a stop, putting the car in park, his hand still on the gearshift as he stared through the windshield. “So…I guess we’re here.”
Aminah nodded. “Yes, I guess we are.”
They were silent. He glanced at her lap again, her hands still primly folded. He turned off the car, surprising himself. “You mind if I walk you to the door?”
She shook her head, grinning self-consciously.
He got out of the car and hurried to open the door before she could open it herself. When he did, he held out his hand, surprising himself by the gesture. She lifted her hand and placed it in his, sending his heart in a frenzy as he gripped his wife’s hand and guided her out the car. Hand-in-hand they walked to the front door of Aminah’s home, and neither wanted to let go once they reached the door. Not knowing what else to do, Abdur-Rahman reached for her other hand, holding both as he smiled at her under the porch light.
“I had a great time tonight,” he said, making her lower her head and laugh quietly.
“I did too.”
He nodded, and they grinned at each other, finding humor in their inability to find the right words. “So I’ll call you?”
She nodded, unable to keep from grinning. “Yes, I’d like that.”
“What time?”
“Anytime.”
“Can I see you again?”
She shrugged. “Sure.”
“Tomorrow night?”
“Yes.”
“Same time?”
“Yes.”
“Same place?”
She laughed, making him laugh too. “Yes,” she said finally.
Then he let her hands go, feeling as if it were the most difficult thing to do. “You have a key?”
She reached into a pocket and pulled it out. “Yes.”
He nodded and started to walk away then stopped to watch her put the key into the lock.
“As-salaamu’alaikum,” he said when she opened the door.
“Wa’alaiku-mus-salaam.” She stood in the doorway smiling before slowly closing the door, her face the last thing he would see before he drove away, and the first thing he saw before drifting into a pleasant dream that night.
That night Sarah woke in the last third of the night to pray again. In her prayer alone that night, she reflected on the words of Nusaybah, still feeling their weight on her mind, her heart. She begged for Allah’s forgiveness, guidance, and strength. She reflected on removing impurities and returning to Allah pure. She thought of kindness, of sacrifice. Of doing the right thing. And she knew then, in the silence of the night, in the quiet of her tears, what she had to do.
Saturday morning Ismael left for the masjid to pray Fajr after eating Suhoor, his heart heavy. Sarah and Aminah were asleep when he left, having prayed immediately after eating. The night before he heard them both praying late into the night, Sarah downstairs in the living room and Aminah in her room. He had climbed out of bed himself and prayed two units of prayer after lying awake listening to the melodious recitation of his wife and daughter. The sound of Qur’an gave his home an air of tranquility, and his mind a clearness he hadn’t felt in a long time. After praying in the masjid, he sat alone in the parking lot, hands loosely gripping the steering wheel. He reflected briefly before he picked up his cell phone and made the call he should have made two months ago.
Alika heard the phone ring as she sat in her prayer garment reading from an English translation of Qur’an, hoping to get a head start on completing the fifth thirtieth of her reading to correspond with the fifth day of Ramadan. She had just finished reviewing the notes Nusaybah had given her on the supplications to be said after prayer before she opened the Qur’an. Sighing, she stood, imagining it to be her mother or father calling this early although they usually called at this time only on weekdays in hopes of catching her before class.
“Hello?”
“As-salaamu’alaikum.”
She grew silent at the sound of Ismael’s voice. She exhaled audibly and carried the cordless to the couch of the living room, knowing this was not a call she could take standing.
“Wa’alaiku-mus-salaam.” She let the sound of her voice express her displeasure. She should have been excited to hear his voice after the heartache she had nursed the night before. But she was looking forward to having Ramadan to herself, and she didn’t want any distractions, especially of this magnitude.
“I apologize for calling so early…” His voice trailed, as if trying to gather his words, or waiting for her interjection to assure him it was okay.
She refused, remaining silent on the other end.
“But I just wanted to…say I’m sorry.”
“Ismael,” she said, placing her forehead in her palm as she leaned forward, “please don’t call here anymore.”
“Alika.” His voice was a plea, and she bit her lower lip to keep from saying something she would regret. “Please hear me out.”
She pursed her lips before she brought herself to speak. “I’m listening.”
Alika heard him draw in a deep breath and exhale, as if he were nervous, or realizing this was his only chance.
“I’m sorry for the way things ended. And…” She heard his voice go for a moment. “And I’m just asking you to reconsider.”
She tucked in her lips, too exhausted to go through this right now. This was a month of patience, of guarding the tongue. Of mercy. So she would keep her less polished comments to herself. “Reconsider what, Ismael?”
“Us.”
She felt laughter at the back of her throat but it came out as a humph. “Us?”
“Yes, Alika.” He sighed. “I want to marry you.” He paused. “Again.”
She leaned back against the soft of the couch and rubbed her forehead. “No, Ismael. I can’t.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone, and she heard him suck his teeth, apparently upset with himself.
“You don’t have to give your answer now,” he said.
“Ismael, I just gave my answer.”
“Can you at least think about it?”
“There’s nothing to think about.”
“At least give it some thought.”
At that she was silent, realizing it was better to remain quiet than say what was on her mind, at least without reminding herself that she would have to answer for it. She narrowed her eyes and shook her head. “Ismael, can you please tell me what I need to think about?”
“I made a mistake.”
“Yes, Ismael,” she apologized, “you did. And I did too.”
“But why not try again?”
Alika shook her head and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. Where she should begin? There was so much that he couldn’t understand, and she didn’t have the energy to explain it to him. She considered saying nothing, or at least giving an answer that would allow them to hang up and never speak again. But she remembered how she had felt when he had said he would never leave her, when he was really saying he wanted her to leave so he could sleep with a clear conscience. She imagined him convincing himself that it had actually been too much for her, instead of the other way around.
“Ismael, you know why this can’t work, no matter how much you or I want it to. You’re not ready for two families, and you made that clear.”
“I never said that, Alika. I was say—”
“You didn’t have to say it, Ismael. You showed it.” She shook her head. “I refuse to play second fiddle in a marriage. It’s clear that whatever Sarah says,” she said, feeling her patience leave her, “whatever Sarah does will determine what you say or do. If she’s okay, then you’re okay. If she has a bad day, you, we have a bad day. If she cries, you want to make it better. And, really, I think that’s beautiful, I do. Really moving, and romantic,” she said sarcastically. “Except you want to wipe her tears away by throwing me away. And that’s what you were doing. That’s all you were doing. She got what she wanted. You got what you wanted.” She shook her head again. “So I really don’t know what I can do for you right now.”
“But Alika, did you get what you wanted?”
Alika grew silent, feeling the familiar pang in her heart. She felt the tears gather in her eyes, and she refused to break down. She would not allow this to get to her.
“Yes, Ismael,” she said, hoping he could not hear her short breaths. “I got want I wanted.” She took a deep breath. “I have Islam.”
Ismael hung his head after hanging up the phone, feeling the weight of his ignorance, his insensitivity. He wished he had been wiser. More patient. He had not even prayed Istikhaarah before allowing Alika to go. Now he wished he had consulted Allah. At least then he could relax, know that he had done the right thing, that they were not meant for each other.
Sarah sat up in bed when he walked into the room. As he undressed, she rubbed her eyes and glanced at the clock.
“I need to talk to you,” she said.
“I think you should marry Alika.” Sarah felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders as she spoke. It hurt to say the words—and she was amazed that she could even say them—but she knew she would not be able to live with herself if she did not.
She looked at Ismael, who creased his forehead and looked at her, but she was unable to read his expression. It was neither shock nor pleasure. He was just looking at her, as if he saw a vague familiarity, but his mind was elsewhere.
“What?” he said, as if confused.
“I know it sounds crazy coming from me, but I feel responsible for,” she sighed, “you know, everything.”
He shook his head, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “You weren’t responsible, Sarah. I was.”
“Ismael,” Sarah said, trying to find the right way to explain what was on her heart, “I know you blame yourself. And I think it’s only natural. But I fought it, and I know now that I went too far.”
“Sweetheart, you have no obligation to come to me and make amends. I messed up, not you. If I had been—” He stopped himself. “Well, jazaakillaahukhair, sweetheart, I appreciate it.”
Sarah looked hesitantly at him. “Will you marry her?”
He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Sarah, I wish I could.”
She creased her forehead. “What do you mean?”
“It’s not up to me, Sarah. If I could have it my way, I’d marry her tomorrow.”
Sarah felt a twinge of jealousy and looked away. The words hurt more than she could measure, or ignore. Yet, still, it somehow hurt more to know Alika would not marry him. She felt guilt-ridden for sabotaging something so beautiful. Sarah couldn’t comprehend the change of heart. But she knew the Source.
“But she said no, and really,” he sighed, “she means no.”
“It’s because of me?”
He forced laughter. “If you’d have asked me that two months ago, Sarah, I would say yes. But now,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face, “I know it has nothing to do with you.”
She felt a sense of relief, but she was still doubtful, a tinge of guilt still in her heart. “How do you know?”
With his eyes squinted in deep thought, he smiled, a smile of wisdom, of manly wisdom. And Sarah noticed he appeared as if he’d aged ten years. “I know, Sarah. I just know.”